


The Way to a Man's Heart

by the_genderman



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Aro-spec Armitage Hux, Developing Relationship, Fade to Black, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hand Feeding, M/M, POV Armitage Hux, Slice of Life, Suggestive Themes, Time Skips, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29849472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Armitage Hux learned by experience that you don’t feed strays because then they’ll follow you home and you’ll be stuck with them forever. At least Millicent is cute… no one told him that feeding his co-commander would have a similar outcome.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	The Way to a Man's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tweet thread: [“I want Hux discovering that Kylo can be easily controlled through the use tasty snacks...”](https://twitter.com/starsshine77/status/1314574715357454344)
> 
> Re: “Aro-spec Hux” tag. No, I don’t think he’s aro _because_ he’s repressed and has self-esteem issues, he’s repressed and has self-esteem issues and also happens to be aro as well. Do we deserve more positive aro rep? Absolutely. However, I’m projecting maybe a little too hard, so this is how I’m writing him in this fic. All y’all repressed aros are valid too.

The entire goal of the First Order is _right there_ in the name: _order_. Sometimes order means taking swift and decisive military action. Other times it means diplomacy and assuring your allies that you don’t intend to obliterate their cities from orbit. And though Kylo Ren may have grown up in Core society with a Senator mother, he certainly doesn’t seem to have absorbed much of that knowledge. Hux shifts slightly in his seat and tries to ignore the audible growling of Ren’s stomach. None of them much _wanted_ to be here at the opera watching a traditional performance dating back hundreds of years and much-beloved by the locals, but at least all of the invited First Order officers had the sense and diplomacy to have attended the pre-show meal with their hosts and newest allies. Ren had shown up barely two minutes before the doors closed, wearing a suit that looked like it had been pulled off the rack that morning and hastily tailored to fit him. Hux muses to himself that, even though it’s not a proper dress uniform, even imperfectly tailored, Ren doesn’t look nearly as out of place as he had feared he would. It’s amazing what proper clothing can do for a man. And he _had_ actually shown up. It would have been awkward to explain that the empty seat in the front row _right next to him_ was not meant as an insult, simply a misunderstanding. The First Order did not have ‘misunderstandings.’

So. Positives: Ren has cleaned himself up nicely, he’s left his mask on the ship, he’s pulled his hair back in a surprisingly fashionable yet subtle set of braids, and the full comport of First Order personnel—including Ren—is present. Negatives: Ren has apparently not eaten since breakfast and his stomach is making that fact loudly known. Hux surreptitiously checks his wrist-chrono. At least the intermission is only twenty minutes away. If he can survive that long without strangling Ren, there ought to be food available then and Ren can get a bite of something to quiet his stomach. Hux attempts to focus on the show in front of him. He can appreciate the talent of the performers and the effort that has been put into the costumes and the stage direction, even if he can’t understand enough of the archaic language to follow the plot very well. _He_ knows how to be diplomatic.

\-----

It turns out that, no, there would not be food offered during the intermission. The officers and personnel have grouped off to stretch their legs and chat about the opera, or the diplomatic mission, or the weather, or whatever else might come to mind. Ren is standing off to the side, leaning against a pillar and looking irritable and ill at ease without his usual mask and robes. His stomach is still growling loudly. Making a quick calculation, Hux sighs to himself. It would probably be more worth it to cede his personal snacks to Ren rather than save them for himself for after the show. He’d brought a small packet of candied bluefish with him for when the final ceremonies had been closed and the alliance firmly secured. He liked to celebrate his successes by treating himself to little delicacies like this. They were pleasantly fishy, but not overly pungent. Soft enough that they wouldn’t crunch and draw attention, but not so moist as to risk dripping fish juice into places where fish juice had no right to be. He removes the packet from one of the hidden inner pockets of his dress uniform jacket and walks cautiously over to stand next to Ren. Ren is likely to be in an even fouler mood than his face suggests if he’s as hungry as his rumbling stomach suggests. It wouldn’t do to cause a scene now.

“It sounds like you could use something to eat,” Hux says in a near whisper, not looking directly at Ren as he hands his little packet of fish snacks to him like a smuggler passing off stolen goods.

Ren turns to look at Hux, eyebrows rising in surprise. “What’s this?” he asks (a little too loudly, in Hux’s opinion). He takes the packet, turning it over in his hands as he examines it.

“Candied bluefish,” Hux answers quietly, watching Ren out of the corner of his eye. “I suggest you eat it. If you don’t like it, finish it anyway. It sounds like you need it; dinner won’t be until we’re back onboard the _Finalizer_ since it doesn’t seem like our hosts have any further plans to feed us.”

With that, Hux turns and strolls casually back to his seat. He can feel Ren’s eyes boring into him, watching him go. Oddly enough, Ren doesn’t feel angry anymore. Hux shrugs it off.

\---------------------------------------------

The meeting ought to have been over two hours ago. A simple matter of budget that ought to have been minor enough to have been decided in seconds with a simple yea-nay vote ended up dragged out for an excruciating thirty-eight minute argument. Which then spawned three more extended conversations-slash-arguments which were threatening to spill over into a fourth. Hux sighs to himself. At least Ren can’t be held responsible for the initial argument, though he certainly isn’t helping wrap things up in a timely manner. He can hear Ren’s stomach growling even over the raised voices. Ren had eaten the same meal at the same time as the rest of them, but perhaps he now requires a greater caloric intake to maintain his fighting physique. Hux had heard that the Supreme Leader was requiring Ren to maintain better conditioning after his rather embarrassing mishap (no one is supposed to know about that, either the original event or the remedial training, but Hux… found out) about half a standard year ago. Ren’s never been _small_ , but Hux can tell he’s been putting on muscle mass, even from under his mostly shapeless robes. It might not be a bad idea to get that looked into the next time Ren has his physical and have the information passed along to the ship’s kitchens and rations officers.

And perhaps it’s just his imagination, but Hux thinks that as Ren’s stomach got louder, so too did his words. There _might_ just be something to that idea of how to attempt keeping Ren’s temper in check. And his temper certainly could use a good checking right now. Ren has risen to his feet and Hux can see his fingers twitch, itching to grab his lightsaber and vent his anger much like his saber’s crossguards vent the excess plasma from its blade. Ignoring the eyes that suddenly fix on him as he, too, rises from his seat out of turn, Hux walks over to the mini-conservator hidden in the paneling of the corner of the room. He had been saving this container of melon for a snack between meetings, but seeing as the second meeting of the afternoon was now an hour and forty-five minutes behind schedule, he might as well put the melon to good use.

“ _Eat this_ ,” Hux orders, slapping the container of melon down in front of Ren. He uses his strictest command voice, one he usually saves for disciplining subordinates who fail at basic tasks. Staring into where he thinks Ren’s eyes are behind his mask, he refuses to blink, refuses to back down.

Ren stops mid-sentence. He seems stunned, at a loss for words. He must know by now that Hux isn’t one to put up with his nonsense, but maybe Hux has never had the need to use _that_ particular voice on him before. Ren quietly accepts the melon, peeling the lid off the container and sitting down.

Taking advantage of the momentary confused silence, Hux returns to his seat, folds his hands on the table in front of him, and straightens his back. He’s going to get this meeting back on track. “If no one else has anything to add, I do believe it’s well past time to move on to the next item on our schedule. Complaints have been made about the quality of doonium received last week at Precinct Seventeen…”

As he steers the meeting forward once again, Hux can’t help but smirk to himself as he watches Ren tamely eating the melon. Ren’s taken one of his gloves off, but he hasn’t removed his mask all the way, simply allowing the mouthplate and vocoder to shift enough out of the way that he can slide chunks of melon into his mouth with his fingers. Hux finds it oddly endearing.

He tries to put that thought out of his head. Nothing Ren does should be described as ‘endearing.’

\-------------------------------------------------

Armitage Hux absolutely has _not_ begun keeping snacks in his pockets and various nooks and crannies around the ship for the sole purpose of feeding them to Kylo Ren. It’s true, they have been surprisingly useful in placating his co-commander when he gets himself worked into his rages, but it’s hardly standard operating procedure. Never mind the appreciative feelings Hux has begun sensing wafting off of Ren lately. He thinks it began about two months ago when he grabbed Ren’s arm mid rant and shoved a partially-consumed tube of tangy lemon curd bantha yogurt into his hand. Mitaka had looked like he was about to collapse with relief when Ren stopped shouting at him. Ren had simply looked confused about why he was suddenly holding a rather fragrant dairy product. Hux had only hoped to preserve his most dedicated lieutenant’s well-being (and potentially, entire life). Instead, he found himself starting intently as Ren removed his entire mask and noisily sucked down the yogurt while staring right back at him. Probably attempting to establish dominance by unnerving him, trying to make him blink first.

It absolutely did not do anything to or for Hux. Absolutely not.

Since then, Hux has fed Ren—he has been keeping an inventory—three sliced jogan fruits, four servings of nerf jerky, an additional two bantha yogurt tubes (another tangy lemon curd and a cranberry-almond), and most of a seven-serving chocolate bar with salted caramel, one serving per day for an entire standard week. Hux might even go so far as to posit that Ren was merely _feigning_ anger for the last five days of the chocolate bar. However, he’d already sampled the candy and found that he didn’t actually like so much salt in his chocolate (only in his fish candy), so why shouldn’t he feed it to Ren? And in his defense, he has found Ren far easier to work with lately. They’ve been 1.4 times more efficient collaborating this week as compared to three months ago. 

Hux may not go so far as to say he _likes_ working with Ren, but he certainly finds it easier to appreciate the man when there isn’t a constant threat of destroyed consoles and traumatized underlings following him like an ion trail. Incidents do still happen, but less frequently. They do have some goals in common, and they’ve briefly discussed some common interests outside of work, even. And he’s not half bad-looking under his mask, either. Maybe his hair _is_ decidedly non-regulation, but it suits him. Hux isn’t sure why he never saw it like that before. Was he just not looking? Well. The more he feeds Ren, the more he gets to see his maskless face. He considers that as much of a win as the reduction in the ‘destroyed consoles’ budget line. He deserves nice things once in a while, doesn’t he?

Slouching a little, Hux leans back in his chair and holds his datapad at arm’s length. It sits on his desk, resting loosely in his hand as he ponders. He thumbs slowly through the spreadsheet he’s started in order to track Ren’s snack consumption, moods, and any other number of smaller variables. He’d started it simply as an exercise in data collection, but the longer he looks at it, the more he feels it’s morphed into something far more dangerous. It’s evidence that he might just _care_ about Kylo Ren. He’s found himself wondering which foods Ren likes best. He certainly seemed to like the chocolate bar—a sweet tooth from his Core upbringing?—and the yogurts have been… entertaining. Hux makes a point of ignoring the little tingle deep in his gut as he thinks about Ren’s, er, _talent_ with the yogurt tubes.

No matter how much Hux might try to convince himself it’s simply an exercise in budgeting or an attempt to tame Ren, he can’t quite believe his own words. The voice at the back of his mind hisses dangerously, temptingly at him. He _likes_ this. He likes the way Kylo looks at him when he hears the crinkle of a wrapper. Expectant. _Adoring_. He shivers. If he won Ren over to him completely, he would be unstoppable. The Order would be his. His and Kylo’s. Theirs, together.

Ah, that must be it, he nods to himself and puts his datapad to sleep. Ren as a means to an end. Nothing more. Ren couldn’t possibly be interested in _him_ , just the food he provides. Much like a wild animal who keeps coming around for handouts. That was how he acquired Millicent, anyway, so why not Ren? That’s all it is. Hux mustn’t allow himself to grow too interested in Ren. He has never allowed himself to want anyone because no one has ever wanted him.

\--------------------------------------------------

No one is quite sure who decided that the Officers’ gym should have an attached canteen, but there it is and has been for as long as anyone can remember. Opinion on whether or not it was a good idea varies from person to person and from day to day. Opinion is _also_ quite dependent on whether anyone has settled into the canteen for a post-workout snack without showering off their gym-funk first. Ren, even before his intensified workouts, had been a repeat offender in that area. Hux wrinkles his nose at those memories, though he thinks they no longer feel quite so negative. It’s a scent that he’s far more willing to put up with now, in order to watch Ren in action. Hux is no stranger to the gym, keeping up with his stretching and Echani routines, but there’s something almost indecent about how Kylo trains. And their training schedules have seemed to overlap far more frequently of late.

There has always been a feral energy, a _rage_ to Kylo’s movement. There’s no art, no order, no grace to his style of combat, but he’s no wild boar skewering itself onto the hunter’s pike out of blinding anger— _usually_. He radiates intensity and barbarism, but if he maintains control of his darkness, he is a force of nature. As deadly and unstoppable as a hurricane. Over the past few months Hux has gained a new appreciation of watching him, and not just because he trains in nothing but his leggings. He is allowed to appreciate multiple things about Ren at the same time. 

Lately that appreciation has grown to encompass Ren’s tenacity. His newest injuries are still healing, scarring over, and he’s already back in the gym. Training, practicing, eradicating his weak spots. Failure stings at him much as it does Hux, and Hux is pleasantly surprised to find Kylo using his most recent failure as a point of improvement without throwing another tantrum. He doesn’t even try to hide his gaze as Kylo stalks past his table to the communal conservator, still visibly—and fragrantly—sweaty with a towel hanging loosely around his neck. Hux no longer feels compelled to trim his hair to a regulation length, but he wouldn’t say no to joining him in the shower and _washing_ it. Kylo pulls a bottle of something purplish and sludgy-looking out of the conservator.

“What _is_ that?” Hux asks as Kylo passes by his table again, taking his bottle of sludge to his usual spot in the corner.

“Something Medical wants me to keep drinking until they’ve deemed me ‘appropriately healed’,” Kylo replies, pausing to hold up the bottle and scowl at it. “It’s disgusting.”

Hux makes a sound of sympathy. It feels a little odd coming from him of all people, and Kylo blinks at him. He sets the bottle down on Hux’s table and his face turns curious. Hux looks at the bottle of sludge, over to his own mug of chilled tea (to which he has added a post-workout nutrient sachet), down to the mostly eaten rotisserie chicken thigh in his hands, and then up at Kylo.

“Is that in addition to your usual fare, or is it a full meal replacement until the injury to your abdomen is finished healing?” Hux asks, partly out of curiosity, and partly to give Ren something to do other than stare into him. Hux doesn’t _think_ it feels like Ren is poking through his mind, but he’s not exactly an expert on Force tricks, and he doesn’t think it would do for Kylo to learn some of the things he has been thinking about him of late.

“I’m not allowed real food until tomorrow—after they’ve checked and made sure everything’s fine. I think I’d know if it wasn’t,” Kylo scowls, glaring at Hux’s chicken. “I’m not a dog, eating bones and slicing my guts up with the fragments. And besides, it was just a flesh wound. Superficial.”

Hux did not reply to that. One, it had very much not been ‘just a flesh wound.’ He had been present the whole time that emergency Medical personnel had been stabilizing Ren and patching him up on the shuttle from the collapsing hellscape of Starkiller back to the _Finalizer_ , and there had been a bit more blood loss than Hux had been comfortable with… Two, Hux had, actually, begun hearing some rather odd rumors about Kylo’s dietary peculiarities recently, and given every rumor trailing after him, it was no wonder Medical wanted to err on the side of caution. The food rumor, however, that was _possibly_ partially his fault. Hux had given Kylo a small piece of garlic-roasted bone marrow on toast during the celebratory dinner after the successful firing of the Starkiller superlaser, just to see if he’d actually eat it. Kylo had responded to that sample by picking up one of the bones that had yet to be scraped out and licking the marrow up most obscenely, right in front of him and the entire officers’ table. If Hux was being completely honest, he had had to take a moment to himself that evening after Kylo’s little display.

Kylo’s stomach growls. He looks down at the chicken, then back up at Hux.

“So, uh,” Kylo says quietly, pointing at the mostly denuded chicken thigh still held between Hux’s fingertips. “Could I have the last bit of that?”

Hux swallows hard. He’s tempted. The idea of watching Kylo suck chicken grease off his fingers is appealing right now. He’s _very_ tempted, but if Medical says no, then he also says no.

“No, _but_ ,” Hux replies, holding up one hand to forestall Kylo from getting upset and interrupting him. “If you’re good and allow Medical to clear you first, I’ll get you an entire chicken. However, it’s a little greasy, maybe not the first thing you’ll want to be eating after a few days on a liquid diet.”

“Yes it is, and I’d barely call this ‘liquid’ anymore; they’ve thickened it up every new bottle they give me. It gets worse every time and it wasn’t very good to start with,” Kylo says, picking up his bottle of sludge again and giving it a swirl. He stares longingly, jealously, as Hux peels the last bit of chicken skin off and pops it into his mouth, sucking his lower lip into his mouth to lick the grease off.

Watching Kylo shift on his feet, looking him in the eye, Hux calculates his next move. If he waits too long, Kylo will get bored and move along to his usual table to choke down his sludge. If he comes on too strong, however… He _thinks_ Kylo might be interested in him for _him_ , but it’s equally likely he’s just interested in him for the food. Hux isn’t a blushing virgin, but sex has always been a means to an end for him. When he has a need he can’t fulfill on his own, he finds someone who can and credits—or information or any other form of currency—are exchanged. Simple. Efficient. He’s not used to having to figure out things like ‘mutual attraction’ or ‘flirting.’ Especially if that little move with the chicken skin didn’t get a response, then perhaps he was interpreting everything incorrectly all along. Ren usually speaks his mind about anything and everything, and he’s been maddeningly silent about his feelings in this area. Hux sets the chicken bones back down on his plate and reaches for a napkin.

Instead, Ren’s hand darts out, fingers wrapping around Hux’s wrist, stopping him before his hand gets very far. Hux tenses and swallows again, suddenly hyper-aware of just how large Kylo’s hands are, how large Kylo is compared to him. They’re roughly the same height, but that’s where the similarities end. He fights back the immediate reflex to want to pull his little workout switchblade out from its hiding place. Kylo, by virtue of his size, strength, and Force abilities, is a living weapon, but Hux doesn’t feel anger or violence coming from him in this moment. Unless Kylo’s gotten a lot better at containing his emotions, he isn’t intending harm. Hux relaxes a fraction. Kylo bends at the waist, a mock bow. He lifts Hux’s hand to his mouth.

And promptly sucks Hux’s finger into his mouth. Sealing his lips around the digit, he sucks it in up to the second knuckle. Hux’s other fingers brush against Kylo’s chin and cheek, leaving faint grease trails behind them. Kylo quirks his eyebrows at Hux, pulls off slowly, and releases his hand. Hux is momentarily stunned into silence and Kylo uses the opportunity to grab his bottle of sludge and sweep away to his usual table. 

Hux doesn’t even try to hide it as he stares after him.

\-----------------------------------

It would be a lie to say that he doesn’t know how he ended up here, standing in a corridor, letting Kylo lick peanut butter off of his fingers. It still doesn’t make the expression of Mitaka’s face when he saw them any less confused, horrified, and maybe a little bit turned on. It would also be a bit of a lie to say he isn’t enjoying it— _all_ of it—despite how utterly weird and non-regulation it is. Hux gives Mitaka a nearly imperceptible shake of his head and watches as the lieutenant scurries away. Whatever business he has can wait until _this_ business is completed. Picking up on the brief flash of distraction, Kylo pauses. Hux collects himself again and lifts his free hand to run his fingers through Kylo’s hair, dragging his fingernails lightly across his scalp.

“Good boy, good boy,” Hux murmurs as Kylo makes little pleased noises as he reverently cleans the peanut butter off of his fingers. 

This is not a situation Hux had ever thought he might find himself in. Oh, throughout his life, he’d had many, _many_ fantasies of gaining control over powerful men and making them do his bidding, but those mostly revolved around blackmail, assassination, and threats of blackmail and/or assassination. He’d never thought he would have the newly-minted Supreme Leader wrapped around his little finger thanks to _food_ of all things. Kylo Ren, who had grown up in the decadence of the New Republic and had never lacked for anything. Any time he enters a room and Kylo’s already there, Kylo visibly perks up, expectant and adoring, and occasionally lecherous. Like he doesn’t care what anyone else might think of him. No one would dare say the Supreme Leader looks foolish or wonder out loud what he could possibly see in their too-skinny, too-severe general. It gives Hux an unfamiliar feeling of warmth to know that Kylo _chooses_ to spend time with him, even if it’s probably mostly for the free food, and then maybe for the conversation. Hux knows that he’s one of only a few people onboard who isn’t afraid to engage Kylo in general conversation, and he enjoys that power. Hux can allow himself that little bit of fantasy; the idea that someone might actually like him for him.

Hux likes this feeling. He likes it a _lot_. He gives Kylo a rare smile—Kylo is the only one he smiles for—and gently smooths Kylo’s hair back out, tucking a lock behind one of his ears. He really is quite handsome. Hux isn’t sure exactly when Kylo started putting actual _effort_ into his grooming, but it has brought out his features beautifully. He’s glad Kylo smashed his mask so he has to go about bare-faced. True, it was done in a fit of rage that began with a tantrum and ended with Snoke dead at his feet—Kylo, when he loses control, is legitimately terrifying—but if the ends do in fact justify the means, then consider it justified. 

As Kylo takes Hux’s hand in his to pull him even closer and lick the last of the peanut butter off, he surprises him by pressing a quick kiss to his palm. He smirks, raises one eyebrow, and sweeps off, leaving Hux momentarily stunned in the middle of the corridor.

Did Kylo just kiss him? Did that _really_ just happen?

\-----------------------------------

Flipping back and forth between spreadsheets on one datapad, Hux takes notes on a second while looking up potential recipes on a third. He’s not going to be the one cooking any of said recipes, but he still needs to know what dishes to order. He’s collected a fair amount of information on Kylo’s food preferences; which flavors he likes best, which he’s ambivalent about, which ones he hasn’t _said_ he didn’t like, but which Hux could read in his body language. It had come in immensely helpful in his youth, being able to read body language. To interpret unspoken words, to tell when someone’s mood was changing and what it was changing to. It’s quite possibly the main reason why he survived to adulthood at all; he never thought he’d be using those skills for something (likely) far less life-and-death—to decide what foods he’s going to serve at the secret dinner he’s planning for himself and Kylo.

Kylo does not know about the dinner yet; Hux has made _very_ sure of that. He wants to do something nice to surprise him. A toast to his ascension as Supreme Leader and an acknowledgement and acceptance of the romantic feelings Kylo has apparently been demonstrating towards him for the past year. And perhaps a bit of an apology that it took him so long to realize it. To be fair, he’s far better at picking up on anger, disappointment, and imminent violence than he is appreciation. But if Kylo’s still trying, still pursuing him a year later—without unnecessary violence—then he’s probably pretty serious about it. He is nothing if not persistent.

Hux pauses to read a recipe for lemon chicken marinated in bantha yogurt. That could be a good one, he’ll add it to the list. Yogurt is supposed to be good for the digestion, so perhaps he’ll have that recipe modified, served as an appetizer. Because if his nerves right now are any indication of what he’ll be feeling when the date actually arrives, his stomach will need all the help it can get. Just because he looks as unruffled as ever doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel emotions; he’s simply gotten very good at hiding them over the years. He wonders how much emotion he ought to show over the course of the dinner. He wonders how much he’ll be _able_ to show. He doesn’t have much practice beyond disapproving sneers.

It’s complicated. Hux would not say he feels _love_ for Kylo; he doesn’t think he’s ever felt love towards anyone. Hux certainly does find him handsome, useful, a decent conversationalist, and possessing a skillset that complements his own. And a figure in power whom he doesn’t feel the need to kill in order to obtain some of that power. And possibly as close to a friend he has ever had. They actually _choose_ to talk to each other outside of their duties. Maybe Kylo feels more strongly about him than he does in return, but Kylo has surprisingly not allowed jealousy or anger to fill that gap. Even with how long it has taken Hux to realize how he feels about him. Although, to be fair, Kylo should have realized that if he wanted him to know, he should have simply said so rather than dropping hints that could have been interpreted merely as appreciation of the food items. Hux is a busy man; he doesn’t have time for games unless he’s given enough forewarning to insert them into his schedule.

Hux snorts, thinking about all the ways Kylo could have, should have gone about this in a more efficient manner and saved them both the time and effort. It’s not like he would have stopped feeding Kylo if he had actually confessed his feelings out loud. Hux pauses. Perhaps he isn’t to be completely faulted for that. If Kylo has any weaknesses, then fear of abandonment, fear of being replaced, is one of them. If the handful of childhood stories he’s shared are true, Hux can see why Kylo might fear losing him if he were to admit his feelings. Well, he’ll simply have to assure Kylo that he won’t be going anywhere, not when they have the First Order to run.

And besides, Kylo is far less destructive and better-focused when he’s not driven to fits of incoherent rage by hunger. When Hux’s suggestions on First Order policy and goals are accompanied by tasty treats, Kylo’s willingness to listen and implement said policies increases even beyond what was gained by their growing friendship-slash-partnership. Hux would have much preferred for Kylo to have been capable of seeing the merit in his leadership abilities sooner and without bribes, but he’s got his ear now and he doesn’t intend to lose it. If he can’t _be_ the Supreme Leader, the next best thing is to be the shadowy force behind him. Or beside him. The Supreme Leader’s partner, in whatever sense of the word. They’ll have to work out what partnership means between the two of them, but that should be easy enough with the correct motivation. Once again, the ends justify the means, and he does not think he dislikes the means.

\----------------------------------------

Kylo lobs the chewed-up citrus rind across the room and watches the MSE droid scurry over to catch it before it hits the floor, tucking it away to be composted later. He grins and plucks another orange slice out of the bowl on Hux’s nightstand and gently prods Hux between the shoulder blades. Hux makes an indistinct noise, halfway between a grumble and a yawn, and rolls from his stomach onto his side, back pressed against Kylo’s side.

“Orange?” Kylo asks, adjusting himself to wrap himself around Hux’s back, enveloping his body, and waggling the orange slice in front of his face.

“I suppose,” Hux replies languidly. He opens his mouth and allows Kylo to feed him, tearing off the juicy flesh of the fruit in one bite. His sheets will need to be washed after allowing _food_ in bed, but… well, they were going to need to be washed anyway, food or no food. He smiles. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t know,” Kylo says. Not a question. “I mean, at first I just thought you were playing hard to get, but after the first three months… even you don’t have the patience to play a long game this long.”

“Why would I have known?” Hux replies around his mouthful of fruit.

“Why would—why _would_ you?” Kylo sounds almost offended. He hauls himself up into a sitting position and grabs the fruit bowl, placing it in his lap. He bites into a slice of lemon and continues to talk as he chews “I have been very obvious about it! I’ve been trying to get into your overly starched pants for an entire year.”

Hux swallows and wriggles onto his back, looking up at Kylo. He crosses his arms over his chest, an involuntary protective gesture. Kylo cocks his head, waiting for his reply.

“In hindsight, yes, I suppose any number of things you did could have been construed sexually,” Hux says. Kylo scoffs and Hux scowls back up at him. “I hadn’t finished speaking. Could have been construed sexually, _assuming_ both of us knew what game you were playing. You’re usually quite blunt about what you want from anyone else and, well, I don’t really have much experience. Interpreting things like that. I wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, come on, even _you_ can’t tell me you’ve never flirted. All the food you gave me? Are you telling me that wasn’t flirting?” Kylo says, his fingers creeping over to comb through Hux’s sex-loose hair.

Hux raises one eyebrow.

“ _Kriff_ ,” Kylo spits, pausing in his ministrations. “You’re serious. You didn’t realize? You’re actually serious?”

“Flirting is, mmh, _unfamiliar_ to me,” Hux explains warily. “It suggests the belief that one might both have feelings and find them or wish them reciprocated. No one, well, until you, I suppose, has ever seen fit to want to flirt with me. I began feeding you because it served a purpose—you have been far less irritable and more effective at your duties when you are properly fed. I continued because it continued to serve that purpose. And because you seemed to enjoy it. And because I found myself… pleased that you enjoyed it. I don’t believe I am capable of having feelings like you do, but I do enjoy our times spent together. If you would like to continue doing, whatever it is we are doing, I am willing to do so.”

This might not count as proper pillow-talk, but, once again, not something Hux has any experience with. Nevertheless, he feels compelled to explain himself to Kylo. That Kylo deserves to know. It feels so raw, like he’s opening a long-festering wound to allow it to begin to air and heal. He’s never loved, nor has he been loved, not since he was taken from his birth-mother, barely old enough to form memories. He truly isn’t sure if he’s capable of loving anyone. Everything he has had, he’s poured into his survival, then his schooling, then his career. He’s never flirted or dated or had any interest in romance. Sex has always been a transaction. There’s never been post-coital cuddling or hand-feeding or—or _any_ of this. Hux watches Kylo’s face travel through a full emotional journey—anger, disbelief, confusion. In the end, he just looks so _offended_ on Hux’s behalf that he’s never been flirted with. Hux feels relief wash over him that Kylo is upset _for_ him rather than _at_ him. The year of snacks has tempered his temper, but it is still present and still volatile.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Kylo teases after a moment of contemplative silence. He lifts his hand and begins again combing his fingers through Hux’s hair, perhaps to assure him that he’s not truly angry. “Any way of phrasing that to make it sound like you’re not trying to let me down gently? You like me but you don’t love me?”

“It’s complicated,” Hux says, closing his eyes so that he won’t be influenced by Kylo’s face—either his too-fluid emotions or the simple fact that he’s quite nice to look at. “Your feelings are deeper than mine, as an absolute value, but as a relative value, as a percentage of what we are each capable of, I would say that I do feel similarly to you. I may never be able to give you the kind of relationship you read about in children’s holostories, but I do care about you. I am not sentimental. I don’t understand ‘romance’ or what it entails, but I like… I like seeing you happy and fulfilled. And,” Hux clears his throat, sounding almost a little embarrassed, “well, you’re not bad in bed. There are a few things you could improve upon, but we should have plenty of time and opportunity to work on that.”

“No, you do _not_ understand romance,” Kylo laughs, jabbing Hux in the side to drive home his point. “But, like you said, we should have plenty of time and opportunity to work on that.”


End file.
